


bitter and sicker than love, love, love

by feralpixiedreamgirl



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: (and he's not a very considerate lover), Abusive Relationships, Anal Sex, Consensual Non-Consent, Consent Issues, M/M, One Shot, Patrick's POV, Rape Roleplay, Rape/Non-con Elements, dub-con, if you catch my drift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:13:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24041131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralpixiedreamgirl/pseuds/feralpixiedreamgirl
Summary: This was born as a tumblr post in response to the prompt: "Richie has a rape fantasy and Patrick agrees to go along with it"
Relationships: Patrick Hockstetter/Richie Tozier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 70





	bitter and sicker than love, love, love

So they must have been fucking for a while because you won’t start off by going “Oh hey, dude I’m weirdly attracted to because your hand fits so easily around my throat! Would you, like, pretend to rape me? Because that would be unbearably hot.”

There must have been something there by that point. Not trust, of course not. Richie and Patrick are so far away from the remotest idea of “trust” they don’t even share the same zipcode. But something, yes. Something like Patrick knowing when to put that beautiful hand of his around Richie’s throat and also where to push down exactly so that he can take Richie’s breath away properly without making him pass out and crack his head open. And Patrick has actually found it very easy to remember that because the way Richie's eyes flutter shut when he does it right, he’s cheeks flushing, his breath turning into shallow little huffs, that Patrick finds quiet delightful.

So, one day or another as they both sit together on Patrick’s bed (his parents are out, Richie will never meet them), in silence, after Patrick has come so hard he could see stars (Richie isn’t complaining either), Richie shares his idea with him.

And Patrick already knows Richie is kind of fucked up. Not his kind of fucked up, surely, but if the way he keeps staring at the marks Patrick has left all over him is any indication there is definitely something wrong with him.

Patrick is an honest guy, at least to himself, so he’s honest about this, too: if there is one way to break that pretty boy a little bit more he’s all for it. And so he agrees with a grin. Richie immediately blanches and Patrick doesn’t know if it’s because Richie regrets mentioning it already or because he shows too much teeth. Now it’s too late anyway, no take-backsies.

The following thursday sees Patrick using the trellis on the outside of Richie’s house to climb up to the second story (on friday morning Richie’s dad will find petals of Mrs. Toziers roses scattered beneath Richie’s window and choose not to think too much about it). When he knocks on the glass he sees Richie flinch at the unexpected noise. He opens the window in a haste and with a deer in the headlights look that reminds Patrick of the first time he had pressed his hard cock against a surprised, maybe shocked, Richie behind the bleachers. His eyes had looked alive like this back then, too.

There are no pleasantries exchanged, no words at all. As soon as Patrick is inside he pounces. He shoves Richie backwards against the bed, which makes him topple over with a gasp. Richie tries to get up again but Patrick is way faster. He turns him on his belly and grabs his wrists to cross them over in an X at the small of Richie’s back. He can hold them there with one hand effortlessly because they are so delicate that Patrick could break them if he wanted to, just like that.

Instead he leans over to whisper in Richie’s ear. He’s audibly out of breath as he calls Richie “a fucking slut” and asks him if this is what he wanted. When no answer is forthcoming he bites Richie’s neck which at least elicits a satisfyingly high-pitched whine from the smaller boy.

Patrick moves to make quick work of Richie’s sweatpants, pulling them down to his knees where they trap Richie’s legs, then shoves down his own trousers and underwear. Richie’s ass lays bare before him all creamy skin and so delicious that Patrick can’t help but bring down his free hand hard, twice, one slap for each cheek. Richie whimpers and wriggles and Patrick’s cock is practically scorching. He presses it down to burn Richie where he is warm and inviting and, oh, already slick and wet.

“Are you gonna be good for me? Are you gonna be a good little slut?” He can feel Richie’s shoulders shaking against his chest. Is he crying? Patrick dick twitches. If he could purr, he would.

Eventually Richie nods, so Patrick lets go of his arms in favour of seizing him by the neck and lifting up his hips. “I can feel how wet you are for me. God, you are so fucking easy,” he murmurs and then finally, blissfully, slips in.

In one thrust he buries himself to the root. He has to take a second then because Richie is so tight around him it’s all a bit too much. He looks down on the boy under him, brushes his thumb over the milky skin. For a split second he can see himself ripping it open, sees the red blood dripping and soaking the sheets as Richie’s body sags in his hands.

Then he starts to move, nearly pulling out before pushing back in ruthlessly. In the back of his mind he wonders if Richie even gets enough oxygen with his face buried in the cushion but the thought is gone in a blink as he chases his pleasure, rocking against Richie again and again, faster and faster.

With his fingernails embedded into Richie’s nape and free to use him however he wants, it doesn’t take long before he can see the edge and lets it cut into him.

The short moment of ecstasy leaves him behind empty and breathless. He lets go of Richie and slumps down, burying the smaller body with his own. Richie’s dark hair tickles his nose as he inhales. He smells of sweat- salty and sweet. Richie’s tears have left dark spots on the sheets. After a few silent minutes, Patrick finally rolls off of him, his now softened cock slipping out.

He turns over to look at Richie who is looking back right at him. His whole face is blotchy, his eyes are dark and glazed over.

He is beautiful, Patrick decides.

He allows himself to reach over to softly poke at the crease in his left cheek and then caresses it in a fruitless attempt to smooth it out.

“You okay there, Tozier? You fucking freak?”

Richie silently nods in answer. The intensity of his gaze makes Patrick heartbeat pick up again. He doesn’t like it.

He quickly gets up to collect his pants and underwear from the chaos on the floor. Richie’s shuffles around on the bed behind him but Patrick keeps his back to him till he has covered himself with his clothes. When he turns around again Richie is still watching him.

He has propped himself up on his elbows and doesn’t seem to mind how exposed he is, his shirt wrinkled and sticking to him in places, Patrick’s hand print clearly visible on his left side. Blobs of semen are drying on his stomach.

Something draws tight in Patrick’s belly as he takes him in. For a moment he wants to lean over and kiss Richie’s stupid swollen lips. He stops himself just in time.

As he climbs out the window he throws a “I’ll see you around, faggot!” over his shoulder.

He might not be as honest as he thought.

**Author's Note:**

> come follow me on [tumblr](http://feral-pixiedreamgirl.tumblr.com) like all the cool kids do.


End file.
